


Anything could happen

by Enmuse (Scifiroots)



Category: Marvel Noir, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Pre-Slash, Rescue, Selkies, Shipwrecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scifiroots/pseuds/Enmuse
Summary: A loud splash attracts his attention. Tony clutches at the blanket as he maneuvers himself into a position to better scan the area. He feels his mouth drop open in surprise at the sight. A man pulls himself into the shallow tide. His messy, long hair hides his face, but nothing hides the fact that he is completely naked.Tony Stark, adventurer extraordinaire, is rescued from an embarrassing death by a creature of the sea.(Knowledge of Noir 'verse unnecessary.)





	Anything could happen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_pointer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/gifts).



> Written for key exchange on the 18+ WinterIron Discord, for blue's prompt of "Sand Dollar (Ecnhinarachnius parma)" -- Getting to the idea for this fic was sort of a word/topic association game, so ultimately I reached the end of writing and realized "whoops, the sand dollars disappeared."
> 
> No real knowledge of Noir 'verse is needed. What's relevant: it's set in the 1930s and bumps up against early WW2, Tony still has heart problems, he goes on adventures seeking mysterious artifacts, and it's just a freaking awesome (short) series.

~

Tony has a split second to think, _Well, this is embarrassing_ before the boom sweeps him overboard. The stormy sea yanks him under as consciousness drifts away.

 

Someone is humming a broken melody, stumbling between tunes as if unsure of the song. The voice is accompanied by fingers brushing his face and gently detangling knots from his soaked hair. His nose feels numb. In addition to his drenched state, he's cold. He shivers, thankful for whatever is covering most of his body. He's too tired to move, or he'd try to cover up at least part of his face. He doesn't even have the energy to open his eyes. Tony tries to get his mouth to move, to at least offer a thank you to his rescuer, but the words slip away as sleep tugs him under again.

 

When Tony wakes again, he manages to crack his eyes open. His lashes stick together, clumped from sleep and the none-too-gentle dunk in the sea. He doesn't feel quite as cold as he had during his first round of consciousness, but his nose would definitely appreciate some coverage. He wriggles, shifting his body lower so that whatever is blanketing him covers the lower half of his face. The blanket is made of some animal's hide, he realizes as the coarse hairs rub his skin. It's warm and thick, whatever it is. He isn't willing to move out of cover to get a good look at it, but he can see streaks of deep gray blending with dark sepia fur. 

From his warm cocoon, he looks around to get a sense of his surroundings. A rocky overhang blocks his view straight up; it's acting as effective cover from the rain he can see falling steadily a few feet away. He's on a beach, nothing particularly special or attractive about it. The sand is speckled with rocks and a little further inland, short, shrubby plants mark the shoreline. The ocean waves crawl up the sand with a few inches of foam. The rainclouds darken the sky, making it impossible for him to judge the time of day beyond "not night." 

He wonders where his rescuer went. He has an excellent memory, and he knows that very few islands were marked in the area he was exploring. _Alone. Rhodey is going to be very unhappy,_ he acknowledges with a grimace. It shouldn't have been a problem, Tony is an experienced sailor and it was to be a short trip. The sky had looked clear when he set out. It proves yet again that looks can be deceiving. 

A loud splash attracts his attention. Tony clutches at the blanket as he maneuvers himself into a position to better scan the area. He feels his mouth drop open in surprise at the sight.

A man pulls himself into the shallow tide. His messy, long hair hides his face, but nothing hides the fact that he is completely naked. The ocean sweeps up along his pale calves, over his hips and the curve of his butt; it covers his back before it becomes too shallow to cover his skin. He doesn't tremble at all, not from the chill breeze nor from water that is surely near freezing. Tony shivers in sympathy and wonders if the man could be hypothermic — but, no, he seems to be moving fine.

The man turns himself over and sits up. His new position allows Tony to see that the man is missing the majority of his left arm. The end of the stump is heavily wrinkled with stark white scare tissue. From this distance, Tony can see no stitching scars, though it would surely have been a nightmarish wound to bind.

It finally occurs to him that he should call out. He moves the blanket a bit to get his mouth clear. "Hello! Did you find me?" He coughs, finding that his throat burns with the distinct feel of inhaled sea water.

The mystery man lurches to his feet as soon as Tony speaks. He turns to face Tony with wide eyes set above full lips parted in an _o_ of surprise. He walks across the sand, heedless of the rain and his nudity. Tony searches the gray eyes studying him. The man's face is unlined and hairless. His long hair frames his face, the ends dripping rivulets of water down frankly impressive pecs. Tony considerately keeps his gaze from roaming further south.

By the time mystery man makes it under the overhang and crouches down, he still hasn't spoken. Tony decides to try again.

"Did you get me to shore?"

Mystery man's gaze roams slowly over Tony's covered form. The intensity offers a spark of warmth in Tony's gut, something that would happily grow larger if the situation were different.

"You fell overboard," the stranger eventually answers. His voice comes out low, slightly raspy. His gaze wanders back to Tony's face. He reaches his hand out and lightly strokes his fingertips along Tony's left brow. The sting and ache left behind at even that gentle touch tells Tony that he'd hit his head but good. "Lucky I was following," he says with a crooked smile.

That is not what Tony expects to hear. He tenses under the thick blanket. "Following me?"

The stranger makes a face and rocks back. He sits down and bends his knees up. He wraps his good arm around them as he leans forward to prop his chin on his knees. He shrugs. "You were going out alone and the storm was coming. You have people waiting for you."

Despite how chilly it is, Tony forces himself upright. He hopes that hunching in on himself under the blanket just looks like he's trying to stay warm rather than searching for something, _anything_ , he might be able to use as a weapon. Apparently his rescuer wasn't a chance passerby, and that may not be a good thing — especially since Tony hadn't seen anyone else out on the water with him.

"Do you know me?" Tony asks, searching the stranger's face and trying to match it with someone he might have met in the past.

Seemingly oblivious to the suspicion focused on him, the stranger smiles. "Not really. You've been out before, though. Often you are with friends."

"You've watched me before."

Apparently beginning to pick up on Tony's unhappiness, the stranger raises his head with a frown. "You believe I want you hurt?"

"I don't know who you are," Tony points out. He drags his gaze down and up, pointedly, before meeting the gray-eyed stare again. "And you are very unusual. I didn't see anyone out with me, so I'm not sure how you followed me. I just watched you come out of the North Atlantic with nary a shiver, and you still seem wholly unbothered by the cold."

The stranger's gaze drops aside, frown dragging his pale lips down. "I'm used to the ocean," he murmurs.

"I thought I was, too, but that doesn't mean I can ignore it freezing my dangly bits off." His comment garners a response of a confused, furrowed brow. Tony bites the inside of his lips and refrains from the temptation to gesture blatantly at the other man's groin.

"I wouldn't say you know the ocean very well," mystery man replies. "That isn't like your kind."

Tony blinks quickly. The stickiness of his eyelashes distracts him for a moment and he tries to rub them clean with one hand. When he's finished, he prompts, "What do you mean 'my kind'?"

The stranger scratches his cheek, not answering. His gaze wanders down Tony's body, or rather, the blanket. Tony frowns, frustrated at being ignored, and looks down to try and figure out what the hell is so distracting about his covering.

Looking down at the edge down by his feet, he realizes that rather than a ragged edge, there are long, leathery flippers. The blanket's shape widens the closer it gets to Tony's chest. Now that he's on the lookout, it's easier to catch sight of the broad side flippers. At least, one is full and looks as healthy as it would on a living animal; the other is torn short, thick scar tissue left behind from an old wound. Tony shouldn't be surprised when he examines the fur farther up, but he still instinctively jerks back when he finds the intact face of a seal. Apparently the whole animal had been skinned. Even the whiskers are intact. The entire pelt has been well-cared for; it settles easily over the shape of Tony's body, no stiffness. 

"Does it keep you warm enough?" the stranger asks, dragging Tony's attention back to him.

The eyes looking into his are open and hopeful. Tony nods silently as he lets his gaze travel over the stranger again. He stops at the sight of thick, white scar tissue at the end of the man's left arm. Tony blinks once, then looks at the fur covering him. He moves one hand out from the warm cocoon to carefully explore the marred flipper. Also the left side.

Tony keeps exploring the pelt with his fingertips, mind slowly letting the conclusion slot into place. _"There are more things in heaven and earth..."_ the actor from last week's Shakespeare echoes in his mind.

Huh.

He meets the mystery man's — the _selkie's_ — eyes. "So what do I call you?"

The selkie's gaze drifts to where Tony's fingers continue to stroke the damaged flipper.

"Bucky," he says. He glances shyly at Tony from under his lashes. "Your name is Tony."

"I— yes. How did you know?" Tony asks, startled.

Bucky rests his chin on his knees again as he smirks at Tony. "I've seen you out before, heard you speak with others."

"So you said..." Tony mutters to himself, thinking that over and unable to decide what that might mean.

"You like mysteries," Bucky says. When Tony looks at him, his eyes seem to light up with challenge. It's an invitation.

Well, Tony has always been enraptured by adventure. He chuckles as he acknowledges, "You aren't wrong." He moves his hand to pat Bucky's bare foot. "Have some for me to investigate?"

Bucky grins. "Many."

~ Fin ~


End file.
